


For my Sovereign, as He so desires, I kneel before Him as I would the Maker - and I am unashamed.

by Redacted_Propaganda



Series: On your knees for the Chant of Light [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Masturbation, Religious Themes, Sex Magic, Slight Blasphemy against the Chantry, What's a gag reflex?, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redacted_Propaganda/pseuds/Redacted_Propaganda
Summary: "Did you know the Chantry flogs its Initiates to instill a sense of morals in those who are found lacking? Ask to any Templar and he'll tell you we've all been taught how to obey when the order is given.""That explains so much."Cullen blushed and fixed his face with defiance. "I am merely stating we are disciplined enough to be a reliable and trustworthy ally - unlike some people." Hawke stepped closer to him, the mage's own countenance that of a wolf ready to set upon a wounded deer. "Sounds like you have quite the rigid system, " "Mind yourself, Haw-" Cullen warned as the other man began to stalk closer. "but until I see it for myself I can't possibly be expected to believe that you-" Hawke now stood so close to the Templar that the Chant of Light, in hard copy, could be kept between their breastplates without falling. "-would ever kneel on my request... should such a situation ever demand it."Cullen locked eyes with Hawke. "Does he demand it?"
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Male Trevelyan, Male Amell/Cullen Rutherford, Male Hawke/Cullen Rutherford
Series: On your knees for the Chant of Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011747
Kudos: 13





	For my Sovereign, as He so desires, I kneel before Him as I would the Maker - and I am unashamed.

The Circle Tower was a vacuous place, filled with mages ranging from self-important to cowardly.

Among the Templars, who outnumbered their wards three to one, such misery caused by divorcing the natural life a human might have been meant to live was tempered by either vice or faith; with Faith bringing an Initiate into the always open arms of the Chantry for a sermon on why women must yield to their husbands and fathers (because mentioning those two separate roles in the same breath is healthy and not at all concerning), and vice being as simple as furiously ravishing themselves with their own hand before a Brother or Sister walks in - or (if one is of age) as complicated as setting up a rendezvous that involves a five to eight person guard system to enable a series of Initiates to relieve each other, in pairs (or greater numbers) and in shifts, as quickly as possible to avoid being caught with a hand on the dagger or under the water mill.

Or gambling. Sometimes it's just gambling.

It's called Wicked Grace either way.

Cullen fell strictly down the middle of faith and vice, as all the best Chantry boys did. However, his rather unfortunate awkward phase made it difficult to extend his vice's reach beyond what was offered out of the sole desire to remain sane under the confines of service, so he started to delve farther into faith. He delved so far in that his needs took the better of him during one particularly heated sermon, which caused him to realize just how borderline elicit the Chantry teachings were.

After the first time an older Templar made him kneel to recite the Chant of Light for him, during his official induction into the Templar Order, he was convinced of what the wants of the flesh had to be made into in order to please the Maker - and no one could convince him otherwise.

Well, they probably wouldn't have been able to... He didn't exactly felt the need to share his revelations with the others, those being ideals best left known betwixt his and his Maker's bosom, he merely needed to act upon whenever given the chance.

And Daylen Amell was that chance.

Mages had their own ways of dealing with their isolation, and the considerate Templars usually left them to it. It could safely be assumed, by Cullen's count, that the Templars present at the Tower were at least 15% considerate - enough for the whole unit to be considered a regiment of "slackened tits with blunted swords and even less sharp wits" by the elder Templars in the Order. Though Daylen was only an Acolyte in the Circle he showed great promise, and on more than a few occasions had propositioned a few of the Templars in jest. Cullen has overheard a few of the lectures given to the man about treating Templars with respect, as he'd also overheard Daylen telling a particularly jumpy junior member of the Order that he could help the lad recite a full-throated prayer until either the dawn broke or his jaw did. Cullen sensed a comradery about him, but he wasn't the type to go around cornering mages, especially in full view of the Order - which was almost every perceivable moment of day and night - even for a tryst that could sate his more secretive appetites.

Daylen was.

The un-harrowed mage happened upon him just prior to curfew, noticing the shambolic mop of blond curls peaking out over another Templar's shoulder. Daylen made no secret of leaning about to get a better view of the noodle-haired Templar that was being relieved of his shift, which awarded him a glare from the replacement. Once Daylen caught his fixation's eyes his expression changed from that of a smartass locating his next mark to that of a smartass sizing up a meal that had been presented to him without garnish in mind. It was a subtle change, to be sure, but Cullen caught it and squirmed slightly. Maker he hated the Chantry's rules about what hair oils. If they kept insisting on over-saturating every inch of him, to purge "the scent of sin" or whatever general "unclean" he apparently had in him, he'd soon be able slide through the halls of the Tower on his belly as if he were a boat at sea with a good breeze in his sails.

His attention rounded their way back towards the grinning mage, who shrugged his shoulders in a concealed laugh and spared him a wink. Cullen barely had time to scowl - as the Templar communicative code requires - and turn his nose up towards the mage with scarcely authentic indignation. Then he watched Daylen scan the crowd to discover any potential observers, catching the gaze of a few of the Templars who were beginning their shifts, and fixed Cullen with a truly lickerish simper as he made a highly indelicate gesture that suggested that he, Cullen Rutherford - Respected member of the Templar Order and extended arm of the Chantry's presence in the Circle of Magi, frotted his own pillow for good company.

The gesture was over quickly, so as not to truly rile the Templars who actually had "motive" to kick Daylen's ass, but it was enough to be understood by the now very red little cherry that was Cullen Rutherford - formerly respected member of the Templar Order Who Couldn't Save Him Here, and extended arm of the Chantry's Cuckoldry in the Circle of Libidinal Urges Left Grossly Neglected.

Daylen turned and left with the other mages headed towards their quarters, occasionally glancing back to snicker at the crimson face the Templar wore. From his side Cullen heard a voice say "Don't even think about it." Cullen glanced at the Templar fixing him with a sideways glare. Those were Radwick's eyes, he remembered. Cullen scowled and made his was towards the barracks with his fellows.

Cullen Rutherford does not, under any circumstances, take orders from a man with half a knob and less than half of a testicle. Especially since the testes had been Radwick's own doing - an incident involving the theft and unsupervised flourishing of the instructor's sword at the age of nine. The phallus was merely nature's doing,

_and sometimes nature really did know what it was doing_.

From that day on a silent understanding passed between them and barely concealed flirtations danced between them, like strumpets who'd been tipped extra to let onlookers play the voyeurs if only they'd vitiate one other instead of the other patrons. One morning the veiled threat of having his mouth used as a sheath for Daylen's sword overwhelms Cullen, his Templar requisitioned codpiece becoming tighter the longer the idea floated around in his head. Daylen watched the Templar squirm and settled back against the wall.

"Feeling ill are we, Chantry boy?" Daylen asked as his eyes raked shamelessly over Cullen's armored form. Cullen ached to have his shift change sooner, but the way the mage was looking at him was keeping him rooted.

"I'm sure I'll be feeling better after I'm relieved." Cullen had meant of guard duty, but Daylen's gaze flicked up to meet his eyes. "Sounds like you're at my mercy until that happens." Cullen gave Daylen a once over, pausing just slightly bellow the cinch around the hips of the mage's robes to note that he wasn't entirely alone in his wanting.

"I suppose I am..." Cullen's tone reflected his uncertainty, he couldn't imagine the reprimand for abandoning his post to tuck himself into a corner and get debauched. "Then I'll have mercy on you. Get your shield off your back and put it in front of you." The mage said in a more serious tone. Cullen started for a moment, wondering if the mage might be meaning to help his urges abate by dueling him - as was typically the Chantry approved method of denying stubborn natural impulses.

"Lower." Daylen advised him after seeing the Templar setting the shield at his side. Cullen did as he was told, understanding crossing his features as soon as it covered his groin from view. He saw Daylen bring a hand up and felt a slight stir in the air as the mage began to weave a small amount of magic through his grasp.

"Unlace." Daylen ordered distractedly as he focused the mana on himself.

"As you ask-" Cullen's free hand slipped downwards to the codpiece to liberate himself, pausing when Daylen once again met his stare. "As I demand." Daylen corrected in an austere tone.

"Y-yes, as you-" Cullen had barely gotten a hold on himself before Daylen uttered another command.

"Eyes forward." Cullen obeyed, swallowing thickly.

"I am not in the habit of stating my intentions any more brazenly than the verbal foreplay we typically engage in," Daylen continued. "that is to say; I don't typically tell people how I'm going to treat their family jewels when I've already got them in hand. But since you're the one doing the polishing, I figure I might as well let you know what I'd do with you if you ever found a moment out of that armor, Chantry Boy."

Cullen was already pumping himself and hoping Daylen's words would hurry him over the edge.

"Do you have any idea how good you'd look on your knees?" Daylen's voice wavering slightly, though Cullen's peripherals didn't catch any signs that the mage was touching himself as he was. Only the rhythmic movement of a hand pulling magic in circles.

"With my hand in those tight ringlets of yours, canting your head up to let you taste my rod on your lips?"

Cullen's cock twitched, his eyes glazing over slightly. Those eyes refocused as Cullen glanced sideways after a particularly passionate mewl escaped the mage, causing Cullen to have a better idea of what the magic weaving was actually for. Cullen's seed spattered onto the inside of his shield as he watch Daylen against the wall with his jaw slack. The mage's lust darkened eyes met his and held them as they both recollected themselves.

"Hope I did actually help you, Templar, I'm not used to... vocalizing. Not in a place like this." Daylen stated as he prepared himself to return to his studies.

"More than you know. Come find me after you've passed your Harrowing, I might be able to slip us somewhere private." Cullen offered.

" _If_ I survive it." Daylen retorted.

Daylen had barely been conscious for more than ten minutes and he was already stalking down the halls in hopes of cornering that wooly headed blond and dragging him off to the Storage Caves, providing she was still grateful for the earlier help in clearing it. He'd passed the Harrowing, and although he was extremely curious about what being possessed by "Mouse" would have felt like, he had an ass to claim.

He also had a First Enchanter to report to.

But ass came first.

(Author's note: Shut up, it's been five hours figuring this out and writing it. Put the lube down and abandon all hope, because this is gonna be rough from here on and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I'm so tired of words I could scream.)

Cullen saw Daylen making his way down the hall and let out a sigh of relief. "You've been out for hours, I'm glad you survived-" Daylen grabbed Cullen by the back of his neck and finally got a taste of the blond he'd ignored awesome power for. Cullen shot back with a panic and barely got the words "Not here!" out with a harsh whisper before Daylen was dragging him off to the very infamous Mage's Corner, also known as Copula Cranny (only the older mages called it that). Cullen was brought to his knees as soon as they'd gotten out of sight, which he was more okay with than he thought he'd be. Daylen bent down to roughly kiss the Templar's breath away before telling him "Mouth open, tongue out, and don't make a sound or I'll leave you here naked and glyphed to the wall."

Cullen's jaw slacked and Daylen took a moment to grab the Templar's chin and tug it down to get his point further across. Cullen complied after gathering himself, tentatively letting his tongue slide out past his lips. Daylen hiked up his robe and opened his trousers, which finally jogged Cullen's mind into remembering he had to participate in these things for them to be any fun. The Templar lapped at the head before putting his lips around it and suckling slightly, causing Daylen to let out a hiss and quickly check over his shoulder to ensure they were still unobserved.

Cullen's suckling was interrupted by a hand threading into his curls and tugging him further onto the cock, so he slid his tongue along the shaft and leaned into the mage's insistence. As soon as his lips felt the base of it he was pulled away from it and then towards it again, after a few repetitions Cullen took the hint and copied the movement with a little more force. Daylen's grip eased for a moment while he took a moment to steady himself and his breathing, which had gotten shallow and threatened to give him away to anyone passing by, before readjusting his grip to the back of Cullen's head and steadying him while he began thrusting down the Templar's throat.

Cullen's cock twitched with interest as his chin was accosted, first slowly - then rapidly, with the mage's testicles as he drove into Cullen's mouth. The sound it made grew slightly louder as Cullen's saliva began to run from the corners of his mouth down to meet the smacking gonads. Daylen soon grew to pant as he approached his finish and Cullen suckled as best as he could, filling the corner with tight wet sounds to match the sharp huffs the mage had failed to contain. Soon Cullen felt the discharge of seed hitting the back of his throat and instinctively began to swallow it as best he could.

Cullen found himself being finished off by mana-infused grip on his pulsing member coaxing his climax through him and out onto the stone floor at the mage's feet.

Perhaps if it had been a different point in history he might have had more stolen moments with the mage, but it was not to be.

\---

Cullen found himself at the threshold of the reclaimed Hawke estate, his shoulders tense as he peered into the foyer and caught sight of the man who'd managed to stir up every type of shit with only a handful of mismatched companions and smart mouth at his disposal. And now that man, who had done more for the Templars, the Fereldeners, Kirkwallers and their families than the Chantry had ever tried to during the crisis, was preparing to publicly speak in resolution of the ongoing - and ever escalating - unrest between Mages and Templars. Despite the man's leanings Cullen felt that the man himself, all politics and ideology aside, deserved the right of fair and reliable protection. The city guard was ill-equipped to deal with a Mage uprising, after all, and would betray the guardsmen to the rumors of favoritism that already circulated among the citizens. If Kirkwall descended to a riot now, quite possibly every part of the city would be at each other's throats and the city guard was not at all prepared to do more than escort a few families to safety farther into the Free Marches or quite possibly even back towards Ferelden - as irony might hold.

Garret Hawke eyed the Templar approaching him with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. He'd had a few years of goading and flirting with this fuzzy blond Templar, but only in passing. Seeing him walk through the front door with as much assumed confidence as he could muster was almost comical in it's own way - whatever he wanted must be important. So Hawke relaxed his posture and grinned invitingly, but it must have been disconcerting for the slightly shorter man as he looked for a moment like he'd seen a ghost. Cullen cleared his throat, all uncertainty leaving his countenance.

"I have come to present the Hawke estate the full protection of the Templar Orde-"

"Bullshit." Hawke waited for Cullen to recover from the blunt interruption so he could prematurely interrupt the newly forming one readying to exit the Templar's mouth. "The Templars didn't send you, even though such a display would be a better impression left on the tie breaking party than their opponents; who can't even show up because they're too preoccupied with staying alive to protect a potential ally who's set to stand before their oppressors."

Cullen sighed in frustration, knowing this would be quite an uphill battle _at best_.

"I realize we have our differences, but the Templar Order-"

"Didn't send you for me." Hawke finished, studying the blond for a reason why he should be so determined to provide anything to a man so eager and ready to oppose.

"No, they haven't. I requested to do this personally." Cullen retorted. Hawke's brows raised. "Well... that's a bit unexpected." The Mage fell silent to allow his guest all the chance he needed to explain himself.

"After all you've done for Kirkwall over the years it didn't seem right to send you into the field of two opposing wolves unescorted, so I requested a leave of absence from my duties tomorrow to provide you with security to your mediation." Cullen stated evenly, though there was little doubt in the Templar's mind about which side the man before him would choose. Part of that sparked anger in him, yet another part was stilled - and also troubled - by an old memory. A buried sentiment, fighting to reach the surface of Cullen's reasoning.

"The city guard will-" Hawke began, "Will die as soon as the rioting begins." Cullen finished. "The city guard is not equipped to handle an outcry of any major scale like the one we can expect after tensions surmount the people deigned to fix this mess."

"Though you make a logical point, there's still the matter of trust." Hawke rebutted as he tended to the fire blazing in the hearth. " _Trust_? I have done nothing to impede your activities here in Kirkwall- I have even, myself, laid the security of _my_ Order in your hands at the behest of your _word_! What, exactly, of my part in this inspires a need to prove _your_ trust in _me_?" Cullen impatiently argued, but the man before was unmoved.

"I simply do not believe any Templars in these times can be trusted to protect the autonomy of a Mage who has proven their motives to be just. And quite frankly, Knight-Captain, while I have some sense of where you're coming from I have little to no faith in your own discipline. You are a man of doctrine, of your Order and of _your_ people, but not of mine." Hawke responded in a tone lacking any true malice, but still sharp as a blade's edge.

"Did you know the Chantry flogs its Initiates to instill a sense of morals in those who are found lacking? Ask to any Templar and he'll tell you we've all been taught how to obey when the order is given."  
"That explains so much; between what the Madam has said about Templar requests at the Rose, what all Templar spouses boast and complain of - once enough ale has been circulated, and how sleeping Templars can practically leap into fully laced sets of armor as soon as a mage sneezes out a frost spell."

Cullen blushed and fixed his face with defiance. "I am merely stating we are disciplined enough to be a reliable and trustworthy ally - unlike some people." Hawke stepped closer to him, the mage's own countenance that of a wolf ready to set upon a wounded deer. "Sounds like you have quite the rigid system, " "Mind yourself, Haw-" Cullen warned as the other man began to stalk closer. "but until I see it for myself I can't possibly be expected to believe that _you_ -" Hawke now stood so close to the Templar that the Chant of Light, in hard copy, could be kept between their breastplates without falling. "-would ever kneel on my request... should such a situation ever demand it." 

Cullen locked eyes with Hawke. "Does he demand it?"

Hawke tilted his head and leaned in closer to Cullen's neck, quietly inhaling the scent the Templar's skin carried and bared his teeth in a primal sort of grin. "He does."

Cullen shuddered slightly and let his head fall to the side enough to expose his neck to Hawke, who fell onto deceptively gently and made quick work marking him.

Upstairs, Cullen had been divested of his armor and smalls. Hawke had him sprawled on the bed and blindfolded, head leaning just off of the side of the bed. Cullen hadn't gotten the chance to see the size of him, but did his best to swallow his anxiety and leave his mouth open for the Mage. Hawke caressed the toned abdomen of the Templar laid out before him, trailing gentle explorations up to Cullen's throat. He took hold of the Templar's neck and slide his hardened member along the waiting tongue, which twitched and retreated slightly after a blind estimation of Hawke's size. The Mage regarded the brief fear with patience as Cullen debated his limits. The Templar came to the conclusion that he was a big brave Chantry Boy who could take it, so he opened his mouth wider.

Cullen's throat stretched around the length that slowly pressed its way farther in, lips eventually meeting the coarse hair that mottled the base of Hawke's length. A pair of testicles resting on his brow was a markedly odd sensation for Cullen, and he did not particularly enjoy the way the hair teased his skin, but his main focus was centered on breathing around the girthy cock in his throat. Hawke reached down and cupped the Templar's head, threading his fingers through the disheveled mop of blond curls and supporting his weight enough to let the other man relax. The Mage set a slow pace, carefully heading the Templar's small sounds to avoid choking him unnecessarily, until the blond beneath slabbered out moans and suckled on Hawke's aching need as best as he could every thrust.

Cullen's flagging member dripped with precum, jolting with Hawke's deeper thrusts. The Templar rode through the alternating rates of Hawke's interest and need until the Mage began to remove himself from Cullen's sore mouth. Cullen's senses searched the dark, empty space he knew Hawke occupied until he felt sensations along his neck where Hawke's seed was spilling onto him.

In the haze of Hawke's last few moments of climax he set to work on the neglected length of the Templar, taking the head into his own mouth and lavishing the rest of the hardened phallus with his hand. Cullen came soon after with a soft whimper, his body trembling like a chill had passed through him.

If any other destiny had been at play that day, perhaps Cullen would have been drawn to the Hawke estate again and again and once more until the Mage grew bored with him.

But that was not the future that the fates had intended for him.

The ache in Cullen's heart grew the more complicated sorting through the collapsed stone became. He saw a life of digging through the ashes to find a reprieve for a widow, and closure to a mother now left childless.

He turned his mind to whatever numbed him from the nightmares. It did not save him.

Could not.

Wouldn't.

And then, he was chosen.

Called to serve the Inquisition.

\----

Alexandre Trevelyan was either set aside by the Maker until this moment in his life for such a time as this,

or he was simply a terribly unlucky man who happened to find himself at the wrong place

at the wrong time.

Still, he had the admiration of those he joined in battle.

In all fairness, the Trevelyan bloodline was rich with warriors and Templars and devout Andrastians serving the Maker's people. Yet none of them could lead an army compiled of mercenaries, unrefined recruits, outmatched and outranked specialists and even diplomats and assassins with such a careful and gentle hand.

The man easily settled tensions in trials at his court with a calm voice, stood firm and unmoving in the face of the Qunari fleets, and had even seen the bleakest possible future without losing himself to hopelessness. Cullen grew accustomed to counting the ways Alexandre fascinated him as he worked one day at a time towards leaving the influence of lyrium behind him. Alexandre was a man with soft and gentle hands, which was a contradiction to the amount of labor the man had undergone to aide the Inquisition's continued stability and success.

Cullen had only ever noticed just how gentle the man was during the first occasion they played chess together, their hands having brushed together purely by accident as they both reached for the carafe beside the board.

Alexandre had even won the game, though Cullen had genuinely been trying to win.

Many were the times that Cullen passed through the library; just to linger with Dorian and Alexandre, to hear the younger man laugh at the Tevinter's witticisms, to watch his hands deftly turn the pages of whichever book stole his interest.

When Alexandre felt brave enough to ask him for a dance at the Winter Palace, Cullen had refused him instinctively due to the heckling the noble Orlesians had given him. Cullen's own attentiveness in his role to his Inquisitor was all that spared him a glimpse of the dejected expression Alexandre wore for no more than a moment before he returned to the task at hand. It was on the balcony that Cullen made amends, offering himself as a poorly coordinated dance partner whom Alexandre gladly took lead of, and they spun and swayed until Cullen felt light of worry for the first time in years.

Alexandre's touches lingered afterwards, and it was a night of soundless snowfall that Cullen's own feet led him towards the Inquisitor's room.

For the first time in Cullen's life there was no hurry; his callused hands exploring a savagely strong yet elegantly built body to trace every ebb and swell of breath, to map the formation of muscle and puckered flesh of his scars. Cullen's lips found rapture against Alexandre's own, as well as his flesh. Those soft hands kneaded into Cullen's hair after they'd found themselves sprawled back onto the duvet, barely dressed, yet still in no hurry.

Cullen found himself constantly returning to Alexandre's embrace night after night, and Alexandre welcoming him each time.

Weeks had passed before he and Alexandre first made love, beginning a gentle pace Cullen believed suited for the younger man and ending with unrestrained avidity and a screeching bedframe. Had Alexandre's bed not given out from the urge they sought to routine they would have scarcely ever strayed far from that bed. It took weeks more before Cullen spoke to Alexandre of his appetites, and only moments before a pair of hungry lips set upon him to understand he was well-matched with his lover.

Cullen let himself be guided to kneel onto the cushion.

He leaned into the soft hands that earlier bound his hands behind his back with golden silk scarves as they now covered his eyes with a black one. Feather light kisses trailed along his jaw, pausing at his earlobe to ensure he was comfortable with how things had been done thus far. Cullen nodded and let Alexandre touch him and explore him until he was satisfied, a gentle pull of his chin guiding his lips towards the velvet skin of the man standing before him and allowing Cullen to trail his affection across the unseen body Alexandre offered him.

Cullen moved lower and took Alexandre into his mouth, tongue gliding over the stiff length until the encouragements of his Inquisitor started to keen. He removed himself and waited as Alexandre settled under him, feeling the slight tug of a leash to prompt him to lean closer so his mouth could be captured in an osculation of chased flavors and unspoken demands. When they broke apart he felt Alexandre turn himself over, the curve of the younger man's ass brushing against Cullen's thighs - just within reach of his cock.

Cullen let himself be guided by the leash to rest his part of his weight onto Alexandre's back as the man ground his ass back onto Cullen's stiffened member, receiving answering thrusts from the Templar until he reached back and guided Cullen into his oil slicked entrance.

Cullen latched onto Alexandre's shoulder with his teeth, barely leaving mark from his teeth as he thrust purposefully into him. Alexandre's voice danced in echoes throughout Cullen's quarters, urging Cullen to shift his weight so he could cant his hips slightly and drive into his lover.

Cullen's voice joined Alexandre's own in climbing a staccato trail up the walls, and through the very fixable hole in the roof, as the two chased each other's orgasms.

Cullen buried his face in Alexandre's neck and releases inside of him, trembling through wave after wave of pleasure as Alexandre whispers his affirmations to Cullen while he spills himself onto the mat bellow them.

After the silk is left untied and abandoned on the floor, the bath is drawn and finished, and the duvet folded over the two men returning to one another's warmth.

After the first time Cullen hears Alexandre tell him that he loves him.

After they drift to sleep tangled in one another.

After Corypheus fails to take Alexander's life.

After Solas proves himself a snake in a Dread Wolf's skin.

After the Chantry seeks to disband them once more, and Alexandre refuses to stray from the path before the final chapter is written.

After the rebirth and scattering of all who joined the Inquisition.

After it all goes silent for just a moment, and Cullen's heart stops tightening over what it would be like to lose the precious things he's found for himself; his family, love, peace.

After the end of it all Cullen allows his shoulders to fall, and lets his boots sit by the door a while longer, while soft hands caress him and guide him towards a warm embrace.

Beneath the bind of ring and lace, he is finally free.

And finally home.


End file.
